Pandora's box
by 40 Gyga
Summary: Being the youngest daughter of the most famous slave trader in England had its qualities, actually. However, thrown like a sack of potatoes over the shoulder of a pirate, the young girl could not think of a single good reason to be happy about that.


**Summary:** Being the youngest daughter of the most famous slave trader in England had its qualities, actually. However, thrown like a sack of potatoes over the shoulder of a pirate, the young girl could not think of a single good reason to be happy about that.

**Chapter:** 1/4

**Status:** Complete

**Disclaimer:** Naruto, anime and manga, do not belong to me.

**Alert:** Alternative Universe. Story with historical background researched and not geographic background.

_**The ship**_ used is a schooner, which places the story in the early eighteenth century. The schooner usually has two poles - as is the case - but may have three or four. It's less than two feet tall. The maximum crew is 75 men, what makes this ship a small and extremely fast model, with good capacity for weapons and easy to handle. The name refers to the way it navigates.

_**Weight**_. Sakura is skinny. Withered. Probably she has a problem that causes her basal metabolic rate to be very high - perhaps a hyperthyroidism, hm. She is thin at a time when fashion was fat. To prove you were rich you had to pretend to eat "well ", meaning to eat too much. So, bear in mind that, for the society addressed, Sakura is ugly – uuuuuuugly. Ugly ugly, ugly. Everyone understood?

(1) 50 feet is about 15 meters.

Ugly :D

* * *

**Pandora**

_by 40Gyga_

* * *

One who spoke of liberty not know what one was saying.

Freedom of thought is a curious irony of life. How freedom of knowledge knowing only what one knows? When you see only what you see and living only what you live? How freedom of thought being only you and, being you, not being them? How freedom knowing that you know just that and nothing more? How to have freedom having a history, having thee?

How freedom, if you exist for others, by others? How freedom being just what they see, what they expect? How freedom is your life is never just yours? How freedom, how?

She sighed, leaning her head against the wall of the seat. The diligence swayed to the rhythm of the march of the four mules that carried it, kicking pebbles, arising by way of compacted earth, caramel tone, toward the peasant areas. The light hair, a curious combination of blond and red-hair, trickled up the hairstyle, following the galloping of horses. Her temples pounded against the wood, aggravating her headache.

- Miss, if you continue like this, will worsen your migraine - warned her companion.

The young woman raised her eyes, green and bored, toward the other. Born before her, they had been close all these years. The light brown eyes watched with phlegm, without much emotion to be diagnosed while the maid occupied herself equipping the rebels and blond strands fleeing out of her white cap.

The lady looked at the figure without contesting the comment. She caught herself, sometimes, comparing her maid and her father, same nose and chin, same mannerisms, so similar that it made the young consider.

- You do not need to tell me the obvious, Grace Kelly. Being bored, would serve me better if you sought a way to accommodate me instead of alerting me about obvious things.

The answer the girl gave did not appear to disturb the domestic, in fact, she went looking for something in the little cabin to pillow her head. The maiden looked back at the path, ignoring the demand created. The idea moving to the country was not pleasant in the least, she didn't like the bucolic air or the social exclusion. Having been separated from not only her father, but her sister and her mother, did not bring a good feeling and that was established in two of the many discussions that preceded the trip. All arguments that were used to add to reasons linked to "I refuse to accept this" were not enough against the best response from her father - for the safety of the three.

Through the opening covered with arabesques, she could see the port city from which she had come in her way away from England, lagging behind. Ahead, more and more diaphanous blue sunlight while traveling next to a slope that would lead them straight to the sea. In the background, she could see the birds making curves as black spots in the sky, rising forever without ever touching the clouds. For the slope were missing at least 50 feet (1), covered by a thin and yellowish earth which clung to the legs of mules, staining them. The girl refused to set foot there.

Something caught her attention in the landscape. A black mass emerged from the edge, rising to become the top of a head. She watched, wondering what a slave was doing there. Could it be a runaway? Should she take it with her?

Soon it was not just a black man, they were brown and of tones that she had never seen. Only then she watched as her own men moved toward the newcomers. Grace Kelly gave a shriek and the young woman looked startled when the door opened, a man of sunburned skin bearing a yellowish smile, bright eyes against the clarity that came from the window, appeared.

- Good afternoon, my lady - his lips ran to the side in a fun way.

- Oh, holy mercy! - the lady cried, rising to her feet - or the maximum foot that allowed the small cabin.

Fingers dug up over the right shoulder of the attacker, pulling him away from the women. Apparently, the cry of Grace had called the attention of the escort. The cited milady squinted, following the pair of men who broke away in a fight that did not seem about to end. She pressed her own lips, thin fingers holding her skirts and she stepped out of to the sunlight.

- What's going on? – she protested, hands on hips, legs apart and all the countless hours of testing on etiquette thrown out the window.

Some pairs of eyes turned to her, not many. The small shoe she wore smeared with the yellow earth when she stepped hard, looking for a loud enough sound to attract attention.

- As Miss Hawkins I demand that whatever is happening cease immediately! You are delaying an already ungrateful journey!

Attracted, in fact, attention. Then the same man who had opened the door wrapped a single arm around her thin waist, throwing her over one shoulder. The miss forced her head up and away from the horrendous smell that carried her. Pulling away, she could see Grace by the sunlight that came through the window, the less shocked than she expected eyes, trembling hands up to the chest in an anxious gesture. She also saw some of her men losing devastating form, one and another becoming desperate to see her being taken away.

- Bunch of useless! – she murmured with unrestrained anger. - And you! You ... you sleazy being! Let me go right this instant! – she insisted on kicking her order in the air, to make him obey her.

He laughed, giving more strides before jumping. Just then the lady realized that they were falling and that, before her, ran the side of the gorge. The cry that was stuck in her throat was swallowed with a gulp of air as he landed, his shoulder tightening against her abdomen.

Just then the young woman realized that things were not going as she expected.

Struggled over the arms of the man who held her, her ankles and wrists bound in now. Probably, there was laughter in the background, but her intentions to get away from the muscle's prison were more relevant than any sound.

Who did they think they were? Gross! She took a couple of shots hitting nothing but air. Moving her like a sack of potatoes! They would see! Her father's fleet would kill them! They would not know what hit them! Bunch of animals!

She moved until her muscles give up, her brain screaming and its orders being lost along the synapses. Over one of the male shoulders, she managed to lift herself up enough to see the coast becoming distant, the port and the market two colored dots. It was then that her eyes fell on what was distancing her from home, a great shifting and blue carpet. Among the ships she found close to her there was none of her father's boat, none that cloud follow her, she noticed.

Her thoughts of escaping abandoned her as she felt like her whole body was moving and yet the sea looked the same. She stared at the boards under him, motionless too, and the feeling of going up and down and up and down.

She glanced over the entire deck, flatly ignoring the men who cast her amused glances. She tried to put her eyes on the horizon - the continent she had lost sight of - that seemed to move as much as the boat itself. She squeezed her eyelids before opening them again. Her torso, tired of keeping the forced position, let itself hang against the man's back.

Stinky, she thought to herself.

Her forehead hurt. She felt the being that carried her walking in some direction – she did not know which, since her eyes had not seen nothing beyond wood. Then stairs, the creak of a door and the stench invaded like a dense fog.

Her eyes watered, she wanted to breathe more deeply, whatever it were to take that feeling away, but smells just nauseated her more. She struggled again. Despair giving her the distraction needed to go ahead. She felt him stagger to one side, the shoulder that carried her beating against the narrow corridor. Then, without the necessary intent, she hit the heel of one shoe left against his forehead.

The bag of muscles dropped her on the floor; as she fell, remained her internal struggle. The air lacked in her lungs, too afraid to breathe the stench. Still on her knees, bound, she made her way back; crawling she led herself towards the nearest edge.

In the background, she thought she heard the man – her former abductor - shouting something, but paid no attention. There was a strain on her eyes and, as much as she inspired and expired, trying to control her breathing, she could not soothe tightness she felt in her chest.

She heard the men approaching, worried about her next move. There, leaning over the wood, eyes closed and head drop in the sea, she did not care for any of them.

- Come on, little flower, nothing can be so bad that makes you desire death - came the voice she knew to be the Captain.

She pursed her lips before giving up and pour all her pre-breakfast towards the sea.

- This explains - and came his laugh. - Hey ! – he called someone. - In this state, she is your responsibility.

So this was it? Being kidnapped by pirates was that?

She would request that none of them was left standing! She would use their precious boat as firewood! (Pause for the insistent nausea) Flock of worms!

- Bring a water jug - ordered a second voice, the movement behind her dispersing.

She inspired brokenly, what little breath she had left being restored. She ignored the shame she felt and she left one of her sleeves to her lips. She was sure she would've taken the whole situation much more bravery if she had not gotten sick.

She would not admit to herself that the disease was the excuse it needed to let herself fall.

She calmed her breath, headache still present. A small moan escaped her throat when she felt all the sensation back. Her eyes filled with tears and she sniffed. It was a pressure on her diaphragm? What, by God, was it?

This time, she coughed briefly goodbye to what was left in his stomach. When it settled again, she huddled against the eaves of wood, she saw a small white handkerchief. Following the hand that offered it and her eyes rested on the paler pirate of her whole life. She examined the tissue carefully before judging it clean enough. She accepted it and cleaned up, hands resting on her lap after doing it. She swallowed the acid taste, feeling a deep scratch in her throat. Her eyes, fleeing toward the path from which they had come, saw no immediate rescue she had expected.

Pretend submission to avoid problems, she agreed with herself. At the sea, there was not much she could do.

Soon, silence still present, ran toward them a little boy and his vision did some quiet corner of her mind smile considering her skills with children and how it could help her. He should have eleven years old, raw-tone clothes too big, dirty, hands carrying a pot, the red hair falling on top of his big green eyes.

- Here, Master - replied the little set-to-board, offering the newly brought object to the oldest, who declined with a nod of his head.

- Take care of her, I have other things to take care of - that said, he stood up from the eaves on which he had settled and left.

The little one hesitantly looked at her, his hands tightly gripped the moringa.

- Excuse me, miss, I never took care of someone in your condition - he muttered.

She tried to smile, willing to make friends with the child as planned, ask his name, but could only let out a sob, as she folded up toward the sea.

She accepted she could not stand it any longer, clawed fingers against the eave, her head turned toward the sea. What remained to her besides bile? She had given everything she had inside! She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and hiccupped without knowing if it was part of the sob that shook her core or if it was her stomach or in its tireless work. She felt the bitter taste dance on her tongue. The pasty and yellow tone still liquid, mixed with her saliva.

They were going to pay, but pay so much for making her go through this!

Beside her, the little pirate seemed desperate. Murmured words of comfort that ran along the lines of "it happens to every seaman" and "it will soon pass.". She wanted to tell him to shut up, already angry, but the fear to open her mouth was bigger. He didn't dare to touch her, not even to take the hair that almost came into her mouth. She did not know if she was relieved not to have dirty little hands on herself or if she felt angry with his hesitation to touch her.

In her trembling hands, the small cloth was a useless piece after so much use. She inspired eagerly, the tears running over and over again as she nodded in response to attempts to comfort the little one, without knowing other way to do it silently.

- Still there? - she heard the voice of the owner of the cloth and the steps that followed.

- She does not seem to improve, Master – the boy apologized, hands still gripping the crock pot full.

- Bring a pot with water and a cloth, then go do your stuff, when you're done, come back, accompanied by Satori .

- Yes, Master, yes - and he ran, leaving the pitcher in the hands of the elder.

They were silent for the next few minutes, he watched the horizon, she alternated between the different types of hiccups that she had developed. A few minutes later, the boy appeared in hasty steps, left what had been ordered and disappeared.

The Master turned to her before kneeling beside her. He started to reach for her hands and she flinched, irritated by her state. Without watching it, the man took her wrists, untying the ribbon that held them together, then, he did the same with her ankle .

- I'll put it back when we're done - he said, paying little attention to the fact that he had just released a prisoner.

- Wash yourself - he said pushing her the bowl with the cloth.

She did not think twice, cleaned up her hands and used the cloth to wash her face, neck and arms. Only then noticed how the smell bordered her, permeated into her clothes and on her skin. Repented for having used up her sleeves to clean herself earlier, she rubbed the fabric tightly, realizing that the smell around her made it even more difficult to contain the nausea.

Again, silence dominated and with it came the absence of distraction. Sat on the deck, she felt like a part of her brain was running in circles desperately to warn the rest of her body that they were moving. Across the hemisphere, a supposedly more reliable part screamed back that things around her were standing and, therefore, there was no movement. The battle between the two had taken colossal dimensions and she could feel them darting from side to side just behind her forehead, inside the skull.

She inspired, right palm resting on her forehead. She patted the spot, feeling the hair out of order. She reached the hair pins responsible for keeping her bun and rested them on the ground, her hands steadying her hair to secure it again. She did not want to appear more misaligned than necessary. Then the urge came and she leaned on support, facing the sea. The hair, forgotten, flew toward her face, holding up against her lashes, her lips while she tried to keep them away from her mouth, feeling them sticky against her face. She preferred not to identify what exactly made them so clingy.

The man beside her said nothing, just continued to observe the sea. She did not know how much time passed. She just realized that she was actually next to someone when the boys returned with quick steps. She turned to look at them and only then noticed the rest of the movement, all the pirates with their due responsibilities, ignoring the scene she made.

She felt, somehow, outraged. She was not particularly proud of her state, but she was not happy to be ignored by the crew. Bunch of useless!

- Master! - the boys screamed and her eyes were fixed on the newcomers. He should have around the same age as the redheaded, maybe a little older, caramel-colored eyes and brown and rebellious hair, different from the smooth hair of the younger one.

- Keep her clean and give her water, alternate yourselves in the task of watching her. If she does not improve until the evening, bring blankets and leave her here - ordered the already distant steps.

- Yes, Master! - the boys responded , talking among themselves to decide what should be done.

She could no longer sit in between the nausea, remaining almost lying on the wooden edge, one of the boys always standing beside her, hands ready to grab her if she went down the edge. She also didn't care anymore about her cleanness. If they were willing to put her in that situation, the least they could do was take proper care of her! She was on cleaning strike, since the hunger strike was not really an option. She knew that she smelled bad and hoped that would disturb them – she did not consider the fact that, where they slept, the smell was much denser and stronger than hers.

The truth was that, despite not wanting to admit, she lacked the strength to move.

If her math was right and all the times she had fallen asleep in the same position had not turned one night, she was like this for three. Without food and with sips of water, at the insistence of her helpers. If she was at full capacity of reasoning, she would have considered them good servants.

On the evening of the third day, the Master had approached them, withering - so she could tell by the hurried footsteps and the small huffs she heard behind her - sending the little ones to their normal tasks and to sleep with the rest of the crew. To return in the morning.

Thus, only they two remained.

He took her by the shoulders abruptly. The fear that the boys had in approaching her forgotten by the older one. She allowed herself to be taken, since she did not have without the necessary forces to give him a well-deserved slap on the hands. Eyes swollen from weeping became narrowed towards him, pale face and bruised lips tightened into a thin line, loose rose hairs seemed to tangle itself all over her body. She ruminated the atrocity of his actions. Touching her without permission, dealing with it as if she was anyone. She would have his runaway hands on a silver platter!

The man took the cloth and water - the boys had changed it - took her hands tightly and rubbed them, realizing that the skin was slow to return to its place. He growled softly and put himself to wash her face without care or delicacy. He cleared her throat and chest without compunction or shame. Her rose-threads, he tucked into her dress.

He took the jug, which was almost with the same amount of water from the first day, and with the other arm wrapped around her waist and he lifted her to have her leaning against his own body. He ignored the others still awake, whistling, and went to the bow of the ship, dropping her next to the nozzle. He supported the clay pot on the floor and pulled her to him, bringing her pliable body, her back against his chest, and forced the female to face forward.

She felt her stomach jump, complaining that there is nothing to be laid out. The wind was stronger where they were. She took a deep breath, feeling the sleep strike her.

The Master, seeing the body begin to weigh more than due, considered if the most recommended was to move a sick person or just talk to her. He concluded, reluctantly, that the second option was more favorable.

- No jokes, I've had enough of it - he murmured against her ear, pulling it out of the stillness in which she found herself. She felt that he had not only muttered, but spoken through clenched teeth, an edge of anger dripping in each of the vowels.

- Eyes on the horizon - he ordered. - We will not go anywhere if you cannot get over it - he muttered, lowering both as he reached for the pitcher.

- Inspire! Take a deep breath. Come on!

She wanted to let her body fall just to make him have more work, however, exhausted as she was, she decided it was better to use the knowledge of it at the moment and take revenge later. She did as ordered, her eyes fixed on the spot. She just noticed that the night had arrived and they were still there. She felt her internal organs move up, she was sure he could hear them, squeezing her diaphragm up. However, the nausea no longer seemed so strong - or this man knew what he was doing or there was nothing left to be put out.

She felt him move behind her until the pot he still held in his right hand appeared in her field of view, approaching her mouth. The young woman turned away, fearful of giving more ammunition to her stomach.

- Drink! – he complained and she agreed, awkwardly drinking the water that was offered to her, repeating internally that he would have a painful comeback.

She put all the possible air into her lungs, trying to forget what she had done, hoping that would prevent any negative reaction to expel from her body. When nothing happened, she expired.

Since then, from time to time, he repeated the act.

* * *

Actually, this is a one-shot. But I always thought that I came out too long to be one. And it takes me too long to translate, so a divided it into 4 pieces.

So, I just need time to translate an already written history.

See ya!


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